The Last Surgeon

CHAPTER 48

“If you light up in here, young man,” Junie said, “I promise you I’m going to throw up.”

“Even with the door and windows open?”

“You could cut the roof off this bus with a giant can opener and I’d still vomit. It’s like an allergy. A person smokes around me indoors, I throw up. Just go outside. You’ll be looking right at us through the windows while you give yourself cancer and emphysema and heart disease. But what you won’t be looking at, darlin’, is this old lady getting violently ill.”

The guard, a handsome, well-built African-American man in his thirties, glanced about the RV, clearly pondering what problems could possibly arise from leaving the two women handcuff ed to the supports of the dining table while he smoked outside. Finally, he unfolded his six-foot frame from the passenger chair and stepped easily down to the dirt-covered floor of the barn.

“I’ve seen you smoke, Junie,” Jillian whispered.

“Only one a day. It’s a deal I made with Sam when we got married. I’ve never broken the deal, not once, but God, does that one Marlboro taste fine.”

“Junie, we can’t just sit here waiting for them to kill us. We’ve got to do something.”

“We’re not going to be as easy as I was when they hijacked the RV. The guy was already behind the curtain in the exam room, waiting for me when I left to go pick up Nick’s replacement for the night. Let’s vow right now we won’t go down without a fight.”

“Any sense of where Nick might be?”

“I’m worried, that’s for sure. But I’m also worried they might be using us to get at him.”

“All the more reason to fight. The question is, how do we deal with an armed guard while we’re handcuff ed?”

“You may not be able to tell yet, but I’m softening him up. I remind him of his mother.”

“How do you know that?”

“I remind every man of his mother.”

“What do we do after you’ve got him softened?”

“I’m counting on you for that one, sweetie. You’re the psych nurse.” It had been five uncomfortable hours since Paul Regis, or whatever his name was, had led Jillian to his car on the pretext of getting some papers for her to sign. Over coffee, he had been charming, worldly, funny, and complimentary, even after she had told him she had met someone, and so she was totally unprepared when he grabbed her wrist and viciously twisted her arm behind her back. In almost the same movement, he shoved her facedown onto the passenger side floor, hoisted her into the car by her belt, and demanded she hold her hands together behind her back. By the time they arrived at the farm-somewhere north and west of D.C., she guessed-her forehead and one cheek were rubbed raw by the carpet.

It was late afternoon when the car finally stopped and Regis opened the passenger’s side door. They were parked in a broad field, flat and verdant. Facing them, in parallel, were four large, weatherworn barns, the sort used for storing and curing tobacco. Some distance behind the barns was a small whitewashed house, but there was no farming equipment anywhere, and no corrals or other signs that livestock was about.

Parked in front of the second barn from the right was a black pickup truck, and beside it was a man in dark slacks, sunglasses, and a white shirt, wearing a shoulder holster. It bothered Jillian greatly that Regis had made no attempt to keep her from viewing the setup or from gazing around. Apparently it didn’t matter to him what she saw because she wasn’t ever going to leave the place alive.

At the second barn, Regis spoke briefly with the man on duty, turned her over to him, and left in something of a hurry. She was handcuffed and led through the side door into a surprisingly vast raftered space, two stories high, poorly lit by three widely spaced naked bulbs. There were dozens of boxes and crates of all sizes stacked along the walls, and a small Jeep parked at the rear. In the center of the barn, beneath one of the three hanging lights, was the Helping Hands Medical RV. She was devastated but not completely surprised to see Junie through the windows, sitting calmly at the table. A minute later, Jillian was sitting across from her, also handcuffed to the table leg.

“Looks like he’s almost done with his smoke,” Jillian said. “Any ideas?”

“I feel certain I can get out of these handcuffs, at least temporarily.”

“How?”

“No man wants to sit around and watch while an old lady wets herself. In fact, I’m not going to have to act very hard to convince him of that threat.”

“What comes after that?”

“Coffee,” Junie whispered urgently, as the guard stubbed out his butt and turned to mount the stairs.

“I gotcha,” Jillian replied as the man settled back wearily into his seat.

“Hey, thanks for doing your smoking out there,” Junie said.

“No big deal.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing that at all, you know.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“My name’s June-Junie, everyone calls me. This here’s Jillian. We’re both nurses. We know about smoking.”

“That’s nice.”

“You got a name?”

“Call me Butch.”

“This can’t be much fun for you, Butch, holding two ladies prisoner like this.”

“I do what I’m told.”

“I have a son your age. He never did what he was told.”

“That’s nice.”

Jillian sensed that she was watching a master at work-a queen of swaying people to her point of view.

“He’s a lawyer now-a public defender. You some kind of cop?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know. Just something about the way you carry yourself. I been around for quite a while. I know people. For instance, I know that underneath that gruff exterior, you’re a good guy-sort of a John Wayne type. You got kids?”

“Enough! All you need to know is that I’m very good at my job, which right now is watching over you two.”

“I understand. Tell me something, Butch, did your boss or bosses tell you what to do if your sixty-two-year-old captive’s bladder was about to explode?”

The man chuckled.

“You can go to the bathroom. You just got to keep the door open.”

“If you wanna watch, that’s not my problem.”

“Door stays open, even though I don’t see you as much of a threat.”

“You’re right there, Butch. Hey, I don’t want to push my luck, but after I get this bladder business straightened out, any way I could make us some coffee? It’s instant, but you’d never know it.”

“Well, we’ll see. First things first.”

Butch removed the small brass key from his pants pocket and unlocked her cuffs.

Junie managed a sideways glance at Jillian, who immediately picked up the ball.

“Me next?” she pleaded.

“Like I said, first things first.”

Junie rose with no small difficulty, groaning mightily as she did.

“Someday, someone’s going to handcuff you to a pole, Butch, and make you sit in just that position for a million hours.”

“Sorry. Orders are orders.”

“I can barely move.”

“You’ll loosen up.”

“Maybe and maybe not. About that coffee…”

“What is it with you two? First things first. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Let me just get some water simmering while I use the bathroom. Like I said, you’ll love this stuff.”

Junie had already taken a large saucepan from beside the sink, run in some water from the tap, and set it on the propane stove.

Jillian was astounded watching the woman operate. It was just as Junie had said-as if Butch was responding to his mother.

“There’s a box of matches right here,” Junie said. “I just have to light the-”

“Okay, enough! Put those down and get into the bathroom.”

“Sure. You take cream in your coffee? Sugar? I’ll bet neither. You look like a neither type of guy. My son is a neither guy, too. Here, I’ll light the burner and you can take charge. Then I’m off to the restroom. The coffee’s in the refrigerator right next to the cream. I take both cream and a couple of sugars.”

By the time she had turned around and headed up the aisle to the small washroom across from the shower, the propane burner was on and the water was beginning to heat.

“In and out,” Butch insisted, adjusting the gun in his shoulder holster for emphasis. “I don’t have much patience.”

“My son doesn’t have any patience either.”

Deception… diversion. The woman was good, Jillian was thinking. Incredibly good.

She risked a glance over at the stove, where the saucepan had begun to rattle on the burner. That they had gotten this far was a miracle, but they couldn’t stop or even hesitate now. These men were professionals, committed to learning how much the two women knew and then eliminating them. Unless they did something about it, they were both going to die. It was as simple as that.

Jillian swung around as much as she could. Junie had maneuvered her way into the tiny bathroom near the rear of the RV. Then suddenly she closed the door. The guard raced past the stove and pounded on the bathroom door. Jillian noticed that the saucepan on the stove was beginning to clatter as the water approached boiling.

“I told you not to close the door. Open it up now, or I’ll kick it in.”

“I can’t go with somebody watching me. Two more seconds.”

“Now!”

The door flew open and Junie stepped out with both her hands in the air. “I’m done. Don’t shoot.”

Junie lowered her hands and began moving down the narrow aisle as Butch backed up two feet in front of her. With all the commotion, Jillian wondered if he even remembered the near boiling water just a few feet behind him. With luck, if gentle, loving Junie wasn’t tentative in anything she did, he was about to get a fearsome reminder.

Three feet, Jillian estimated.

Suddenly, Junie reached one hand behind her back and brought it out holding an aerosol can of disinfectant. Butch was reaching for it when she sprayed him in the face. It was a feeble effort and the guard swatted the can away after only one blast. But some of the chemical had stung his eyes. His hand shot up and grabbed her by the throat as his other hand wiped the aerosol away.

“Please don’t hurt her!” Jillian screamed. “She’s never harmed anyone. Junie, don’t be foolish.”

Butch hesitated, then loosened his grip.

Junie dropped to one knee, gasping for air, but Jillian noticed that she had moved the guard backward another two feet. Butch, still rubbing at his eyes, was paying no attention to the saucepan of water, which Jillian felt certain was boiling now.

“That was a damn stupid thing to do,” the guard said.

“You’re going to kill us anyway, aren’t you? I had to try something.”

“Shut up and get back to your seat. There’s not going to be any killing here.”

Inch by inch, Junie moved ahead, purposely keeping her gaze down.

“Thank you, Butch,” Jillian said. “Thank you for not hurting her.”

Butch glanced behind him at Jillian. The distraction had lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

Junie’s moves were quick and deadly accurate. She grasped the saucepan handle, cried out Butch’s name, and as he turned back, splashed the boiling water into his face from just a few inches away.

Before the guard had even hit the carpeted floor, screaming and pawing at his eyes, Junie was pounding him again and again with the saucepan-powerful strikes that sounded like rifle shots. It took just two blows for him to become limp, but Junie landed half a dozen more, each more forceful than the last. At some point, Jillian thought she heard bone crack.

She stared wide-eyed at the woman.

“I grew up in a dog-eat-dog neighborhood,” Junie said, breathless. She reached down first to check Butch’s carotid pulse, then removed his pistol, and finally fished inside his pocket for the handcuff key. “Sometimes just making it to the corner grocery store was a serious adventure. He’s still got a pulse. But I don’t think waking up is in his near future.”

“Just remind me never to ask you for any coffee,” Jillian said.